


The Seconds After I Fall

by StorytellerSecrets



Series: The Random Drabbles I Write And Then Post [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: And I want to be heard, And I'd forgotten how to speak at all, And I'd forgotten to learn and grow and teach myself, And I'd forgotten why I WANTED to speak at all, And once the document is pulled up and the timing is right, And these works are my evidence, And yet, Because in all that wanting and longing I'd forgotten to remember to shape myself as a person, But I don't really have anything to say, Character Study, Desperately wishing I have a voice until I get one, Drabble, Gen, I am not the best writer as it stands, I freeze, I'm ever lulled by the sweet song of praise and the significant desire to be known, Once I have a voice, Standing, Written for a Class, after all, i have nothing to say, i'm just here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21684349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StorytellerSecrets/pseuds/StorytellerSecrets
Summary: Analise Gretchen was a walking memoriam. Despite that, she was still a child amongst a sea of children.And children do bad things.
Series: The Random Drabbles I Write And Then Post [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563160
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	The Seconds After I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in March for a class where we had to make an on-the-spot character and write about them and am really only posting it because I keep crawling back to the internet in my quest for personal validation.
> 
> Enjoy?

Analise Gretchen was a walking memoriam. Her first name came from her father’s mam, who was Analise Antarro before anything else. Her middles, Katrin and Sellicia, were gifts from her deceased aunt and uncle, her da’s older siblings. The name Adella came from her mam's da, an old miner who'd passed through the fires of Hell itself before losing to a battle with a cancerous growth on the side of his head. All her names held stories, but her last name was by far the most striking.

Gretchen was not a family name, at least not in lasts, but since her family lived in a rural, near-lawless part of Nowhere, Germany, they gave it to her anyway. No, Gretchen belonged to her mam’s half, her _Seelenverwandte,_ her soulmate. Her twin.

Ironic, was it not, that Analise Katrin Adella Sellicia Gretchen was named primarily after a dead twin when, during her birth, she was the twin that survived. (Had her brother been the one, he would’ve been Luka Evanna Fredrick Dannao Estoria. Had he, though he had not.)

Her hair was just as thick and viscous as syrup, with a near-identical coloration to the thick topping. With eyes as bright and as bold as raw honeysuckle, she truly was a sight to behold. Her fair skin and bright eyes and starkissed cheeks tracked in suitors like boots tracked in mud. (Never mind that she lived in a graveyard. Nevermind that she was the embodiment of death. Nevermind.)

Analise was taller than the other girls in her village, and she’d continue to be so until the day she departed from her little, little home. She spoke like the other girls, voice thick with a caramel tongue, walked like the other girls, back straight and shoulders held high, and played like the other girls, catching rabbits in the briars and snakes in the swamps, but she was nearly a foot taller than everyone else her age and that made the others wary. She was tall, and twiggish, like a newly-sprung sapling just starting to blossom, and she had a knack for finding trouble.

“What will you do, tell your da?” a boy would sneer at her before she was shoved off the hill. (She hit her head against a rock, hard, and her arm broke underneath the pressure of her own weight. So yes, she told her da.)

“Who would listen to you, _die Tochter des Todes_?” The girl with the braided crown who sells peaches at the market snickered, and Analise grinned. (The thing about wolves, they say, is that once you bite them they learn to bite back.)

“Who would? Not those with heads like yours,” she replied, and off she went, walking through the place known only as the Black Forest, all made up with Spruce and beech. And Analise smiled, not because she was happy, but because she was tired of frowning.

She was resilient, certainly, but she was still a child and a child she would stay for years more, so she was bound to be affected by the world’s cruelty. (And affected she was until the fateful day she learned to bite back.) Until then, she walked home and avoided corners and shadows, locked the door with a grunt, and made herself a cup of tea, all filled with syrup and honeysuckle and the sickly-sweet cider of death.

**Author's Note:**

> Please validate me through means of kudos, comments, or even just thinking "that story that I just read there, the one that took an estimated 1 minute and 42 seconds to read, that was worth the time and effort it took to click on it and read it," if you enjoyed.
> 
> I hope it was worth reading :D


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